


ghostly grievances (and other common roommate complaints)

by nanodarlings (incendiarism)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Past Character Death, Polyamory, Roommates, brief cameos from jisung and yangyang, it happens offscreen and is never really touched on but they ARE ghosts, plants as a plot device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incendiarism/pseuds/nanodarlings
Summary: Jaemin has two hands, but unfortunately neither Renjun nor Donghyuck can hold them.Because they're, you know, ghosts and all.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68
Collections: '00 FIC FEST ROUND TWO





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prompt #00077
> 
> first and foremost, a massive thank you to admin bom for running this behemoth of a fest so smoothly (and being patient when i asked for extensions). another huge thanks to my beta for helping me as i wrote and generally just being an amazing cheerleader! thank you as well to my prompter for providing such a lovely concept and an opportunity to write poly. none of this would've been possible without the three of you.
> 
> and to the reader: thank you for clicking, i hope you enjoy!

On this bright morning, Donghyuck is in exceptionally high spirits. He flitters around his apartment, a buzz of motion and anticipation, all cheer and excitement. As he floats between the halls, he alternates between singing to no one in particular—silly pop tunes, earworms that never quite unstuck themselves—and laughing, a little maniacal, a little delighted.

After all, the new boy, Jaemin, is oh-so intriguing. Intriguing mannerisms, intriguing smile, and most of all: intriguing naivety. If Donghyuck’s feeling brave, brash, he’d even dare to call him the most intriguing tenant that they’ve had in years.

Except, no. He’s not feeling that brave, because then Renjun would chide him for jumping to conclusions too soon, punctuated to a whack on the shoulder, but he will _think_ it very strongly. Think it with a laugh, bright and bubbling, sharp around the edges and mischievous at the core. Because life (or, uh, death? pseudo-life?) as a ghost leaves a lot to be desired, and Donghyuck believes that he’s allowed to have some fun when he can.

And Jaemin, wide eyes and wider smiles, signing the lease without a second thought, seems to be the perfect opportunity. Jaemin, impossibly optimistic, ignoring all of the cautionary tales that everyone who moves in is regaled with, the hushed stories of doors that slam shut and creaking that never seems to go away and voices ringing through the night. Of ghosts, they whisper, that have scared away every person who tries to live here.

Jaemin is charmingly oblivious, refreshingly new, and Donghyuck looks forward to all of the challenges that the boy presents.

Donghyuck mentions this to Renjun—his only ghostly companion and therefore the only one with the honor of listening to his thoughts—and is met with a pinch to the side paired with a curt sigh. It should be off-putting, but Donghyuck’s known Renjun for years, decades even, and the glint in his eye is unmistakable. Renjun anticipates the new kid just as much as Donghyuck. If not more. After all, if there’s anyone who likes a good challenge more than Donghyuck, it’s Renjun.

Their whole gig is horribly cliché, which Renjun is always quick to point out when he’s feeling particularly snippy. Like the plot of some shitty horror movie, one that Donghyuck would for sure scoff at if he’d watched it while still alive. One complete with crude sound effects, underpaid actors, and amateur scriptwriters.

The premise is this: they meet someone new who’s moving in, and after sizing them up they set out to make their stay as tortuous as possible, pulling out all the fanfare and flourishes that they can. A living hell even—assuming hell exists, that is, which they don’t _know_ because they’re held back from a proper afterlife by some weird limbo.

Yeah.

And, well, being a ghost isn’t exactly exciting. Sure, contrary to some beliefs, they _can_ roam around freely. But the last time they tried that, strayed away from their apartment after a particularly cute cat walked past their balcony, Donghyuck noticed Renjun… fading. Like, the ‘slowly being erased from reality’ kind of fading. And from the look of horror on Renjun’s face, it was safe to assume that the same was happening to him.

Turns out, the prospect of disappearing from the universe without any sort of fanfare is not only scary as fuck, but also bleak as hell—even bleaker than their typical prospects of eternity as ghostly beings. They never went too far from their apartment after that episode. So really, can you blame the two of them for trying to find whatever excitement they can in their existences?

No, you can’t.

And besides, Donghyuck reasons with a haughty sniff. It’s in awfully poor taste to speak ill of the dead. Hmph.

—

Na Jaemin moves in on an unassuming Tuesday set in the last few weeks of summer. It’s a beautiful day, really, and everything seems to be going in his favor: the skies are clear, the temperatures are pleasant, even the finicky elevator is miraculously working for once, an occurrence that had been rare even back when Donghyuck was alive.

Helping him get settled is a wide-eyed kid named Jisung, who Jaemin seems to be quite fond of, if the hair ruffles and heart-eyes are any indication. Donghyuck can barely count on one hand just how many times Jaemin is batted away by an unamused Jisung. An unamused Jisung who, although immune to Jaemin’s administrations, is instead fidgeting the whole time he’s there and looking around as if expecting to get jumped at any minute.

“Jaemin, are you, uh, sure this is a good idea?” he asks as he sets down a large box marked _FRAGILE_ in big red handwriting. There are a few other boxes with the same lettering, and Donghyuck has the urge to stick his hands in one, rustle around, find out what could be so important. He holds off though, because he doesn’t want to rush into things. Not yet at least. 

“What, you mean finally getting away from my terror of a roommate and getting a place to myself?” Jaemin quips back, setting down a box of his own and raising his arms to stretch.

“Oh—” Jisung scrunches his nose and gives a light shake of his head— “No, of course it’s not that. _Fuck_ that guy, good riddance to him. It’s just.” Jisung hesitates, eyes darting around the room, before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “I heard that this place is, like, mad haunted. You know, windows-flying-open, slammed-doors-in-the-night kind of haunted.”

Donghyuck lets out a short chuckle. He’ll admit that Jisung is pretty spot on with his appraisal of the house, sure. They've certainly done their fair share of opening windows and slamming doors in their time here. But Jisung also looks like a scared chick as he speaks, tiny and startled, and the image is more than a little bit amusing.

Jaemin, a wry grin of his own blooming across his face, says, “Ah, those old rumors. Jisung, you know I don’t believe in ghosts, silly.” He adds a dismissive wave of his hands, fluttering and careless, and then says, “But if you’re scared, fear not! I’ll fight them off for you.”

Donghyuck meets Renjun’s gaze from where they’re floating above their heads and shoots him a grin of his own. He met with a scoff, a mixture of something fond, something long-suffering, something amused, but Donghyuck knows that he agrees with him. It’s always the non-believers who are always the most fun to mess with.

“Ugh, fine. But if anything happens, I reserve the right to say I told you so.”

“I’ll hold you to it, since ghosts aren’t real anyways!”

And Jisung drops it for the rest of his stay, seemingly placated by the thought of having something to rub in Jaemin’s face. Well, he’s seemingly placated, but he also keeps on darting glances around the room and shivering occasionally.

Renjun gives him points for having intact survival instincts. Donghyuck agrees with a laugh, and then remarks that it’s a shame Jaemin can’t say the same. 

—

Donghyuck decides to begin with mostly unassuming pranks. Little things like opening windows in the middle of the night or jamming shut random cupboards or turning off the stove while Jaemin’s in the middle of cooking. Harmless, but annoying. Obnoxious. Designed to get under his skin, ruffle his feathers, rustle his jimmies. Thoroughly rustle his jimmies.

Renjun joins in with his own ploys as well, doing devious deeds such as switching the labels on his shampoo and conditioner (the horror), slipping fruit into odd places in the rest of the bathroom (shower oranges! oh, the _horror_ ), and changing his phone wallpaper to increasingly cursed photos of Teletubbies. Teletubbies, absolute nightmare fuel, Donghyuck truly is glad that Renjun is on his side and not Jaemin’s.

The Jaemin in question, however, apparently has the patience of an angel (if angels even exist) and barely bats an eye at the disturbances.

Well. If that won’t cut it, then so be it. Donghyuck has other tricks up his sleeve; Donghyuck knows how to up the ante.

Like now.

Ruining Na Jaemin’s Living Experience at Apartment 404 - Operation One:

This time around, Donghyuck is going for the classic ‘turn off the lights and flush the toilet while you’re in the shower’ trick. Jaemin, as always, is blissfully unaware of his impending doom, humming cheerfully under his breath as he scrubs away.

 _Gotcha_ , Donghyuck thinks, as he slips through the walls, flips the lightswitch, and flicks the toilet handle in record time. Oh, the benefits of not being bound to normal physics. He then prepares himself for Jaemin’s reaction: a shriek perhaps, or maybe a nice string of expletives. Disappointingly though, he’s met with nothing for all his trouble.

In fact, almost as if he can tell how obnoxious he’s being, the bastard keeps on humming as if nothing’s changed! And Donghyuck knows, from the time that he lived here and could still appreciate a nice shower, that the quality of this apartment is far too shitty to support two water sources at the same time. Meaning that Jaemin’s shower should be ice-cold by now, and Jaemin _hates_ the cold if his heated blanket is anything to go by.

But no, Donghyuck’s efforts have gone to waste once more.

Well. Fine then, Donghyuck can go further.

—

Ruining Na Jaemin’s Living Experience at Apartment 404 - Operation Two:

Now, after doing some careful research, Donghyuck has learned key information on his target. Jaemin is a broke college student. By definition then, he’s hardwired to hate any unnecessary spending.

Which is where Donghyuck comes in. Yeah, that’s right. Donghyuck is going to invoke the horror of high utility bills. That’s _got_ to get some sort of rise out of Jaemin.

He prepares carefully this time, locating every electronic that can be plugged in, every faucet or tap, every light switch: anything that might increase his spending. He finds all the outlets in the place and calculates which devices would use up the most power. After that it’s only a matter of waiting—and since Jaemin, as aforementioned, is a struggling college student, he has to leave the apartment for class sooner rather than later. Donghyuck’s opportunity is made.

At 10:00 am sharp, Jaemin exits the premises, and Donghyuck makes his move. On goes the living room light, on goes the kitchen sink, on goes the heating system. Donghyuck weaves through the halls, past a rather disgruntled Renjun that’s upset with all the commotion, and into the arms of resounding success. He can practically hear Jaemin’s bank account weeping already.

Or, so he thinks?

Because, moments after Donghyuck finally finishes setting everything up, he hears the sound of the door being unlocked.

Uh. What.

This isn’t part of the plan.

Jaemin enters while muttering under his breath, something like, _silly me, how could I have forgotten my coat_ , and scans around the apartment. And then, to Donghyuck’s absolute horror, he begins going around and shutting off the taps and lamps, undoing everything Donghyuck had worked so hard to achieve.

What the fuck.

See, the normal laws of physics may not apply to Donghyuck—but he still gets mentally tired from doing things. And going through all of that trouble? Making sure you've hit every possible light switch, fully maximized your energy wasting potential? Oh, it’s absolutely exhausting.

So, fine. You’ve won this battle, Na Jaemin, grumbles Donghyuck. _Again_ , adds the very unhelpful voice inside his head, but he brushes that off. Giving up means admitting defeat—both to a human, of all things, and to Renjun. Renjun who, although just as unsuccessful, shows no signs of letting up anytime soon. No, this is not a surrender, only a tactical retreat. Donghyuck is going to take a nice, refreshing nap and then tackle the problem with bigger and better strategies.

—

Ruining Na Jaemin’s Living Experience at Apartment 404 - Operation Three:

Okay, so it’s time to stop going so easy on him. It’s time to exploit Jaemin’s biggest weakness, his worst pet peeve. 

Crumbs being left on his bed.

Something that Donghyuck has seen Jaemin berate Jisung about a thousand times over. There’s even a certain look Jaemin gets, which Donghyuck can now almost perfectly imitate, often for Renjun’s entertainment—his face pinches up, his eyebrows draw together, and his lips pucker together hilariously.

It’s golden. Donghyuck can’t wait to see it play out once more.

The set-up is simple this time too, none of the hassle that had accompanied the utility bill failure. It goes like this: Donghyuck sneaks a pack of crackers out of the cupboards—an easy feat, considering how generally unobservant Jaemin is—moves them to Jaemin’s bed, and goes to town all over Jaemin’s pristine sheets. A perfect, devious, and foolproof plan. So confident is Donghyuck in his scheme that he even invites Renjun to watch, dragging him to Jaemin’s room.

The man of the hour, Na Jaemin himself, enters. Donghyuck grabs onto Renjun’s hand in excitement. This is it. This is where he finally wins the ongoing competition with Renjun _and_ chases away Jaemin once and for all.

Jaemin gets closer to the bed. Donghyuck’s thoughts are a blue resembling something like _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_. Closer. Closer still, and— 

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Donghyuck deflates as Jaemin merely brushes the crumbs off his bed like they’re nothing, spirit crushed like a sad, leaky balloon. “Oh, _come on_ ,” he mutters. “Really? Not even that gets you?”

Renjun pries himself from Donghyuck’s grip and gives him a weak sympathy pat. “Tough luck man, maybe next time,” he says before floating off to do god-knows-what.

Donghyuck buries his head in his hands and screams.

It’s oddly cathartic, a bit like yelling into the void. Jaemin never noticing him provides this small comfort, at least.

—

“I don’t get it,” Donghyuck says, drooping with exasperation as he slumps in his stool at the kitchen counter. He needs a drink, he thinks idly—except wait, right, he’s a fucking ghost and that’s out of the picture. “Jaemin either is the most oblivious person on the planet or really, _really_ doesn’t care about anything.”

After what Donghyuck dubs the crumb fiasco, he’d tried out a few other ideas, all resulting in varying levels of failure. Hence, the pity party.

“Probably the latter,” Renjun remarks dryly from the seat next to him. “I mean, you’re not exactly being the most subtle about what you’re doing.”

“Well—” Donghyuck heaves a sigh, a heavy, drawn out one that probably would’ve puffed up his bangs if his hair could still grow long enough to fall into his eyes— “Okay, fine. But you’d think he’d at least have some sort of reaction?”

(There’s one benefit of the spirit life, Donghyuck supposes. No need for haircuts if your hair never actually grows.

Except, can you even call it hair at this point? Is all of Donghyuck just made up of ghostly energy, or does he still have… body parts? Body part adjacents?

Okay, no, stop. That’s veering dangerously close to the realms of an existential crisis, and Donghyuck had enough of those fifty years ago when he died. Or, when he was reborn. Or—

You know what, nevermind.)

“It’s just that—I can’t get anything out of him—and it’s infuriating.” Donghyuck lays his head on the marble of the counter, like the melodramatic bitch he is. “I mean, this one time? I dumped coriander into his ramen, like a disgusting amount, and he didn’t even flinch—not at the coriander floating right in front of his eyes, not at the ramen being completely covered by the time I was done, not even at the taste!”

“Maybe he just really likes coriander?” Renjun reasons. He sounds almost exasperated, but it’s belied by the hand he rests on Donghyuck’s back that starts rubbing slow circles.

“No one in their right mind likes coriander, Renjun.” Donghyuck pauses, before shrugging off Renjun’s hand and sitting upright. “Maybe _Jaemin_ is the real monster here, and _we’re_ the helpless protagonists that need saving!”

Renjun blinks a few times, probably debating on whether or not to smack him, before saying, “Donghyuck. We’re ghosts. I don’t think anything short of an exorcist can hurt us.”

“Well, you never know!” Donghyuck shoots back, a little petulantly. He’s being silly, he knows that, but there also really isn’t anything better to do. After all, the list of options for ghostly recreation is claustrophobically small, and Donghyuck decided decades ago that he’d have to make his own fun. If not for his own sake, then for Renjun’s.

Donghyuck continues arguing with Renjun, pulling out his extensive, but not exhaustive list of Reasons Why Na Jaemin Cannot Be Real (including, but not limited to: who the fuck drinks six-shot Americanos with no water, but then turns around and orders boba with 100% sugar? who the fuck keeps entire boxes of sugar cubes next to their bed as a late-night snack? and who the fuck doesn’t like strawberry as a flavor? strawberry flavored things are the fucking food of the gods, what the fuck—) as Renjun mutters a _you’re really hung up over his eating habits, aren’t you?_ quietly.

Neither of them clock on to the fact that the sound of Jaemin typing from the living room has stopped, as wrapped up in their debate as they are, until the sound of someone clearing their throat breaks through.

“You know,” says Jaemin as he leans against the countertop, eyes fixed directly at the two of them, arms crossed over his chest, and a grin tugging at the corner of his lips—the same grin that’d been in place when he admitted to Jisung that he didn’t believe in ghosts all those weeks ago. “As much as I enjoy the antics, if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked for it nicely. I don’t bite; I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

The silence following Jaemin’s admission is almost laughable. No, scratch the almost, it _is_ laughable, and Jaemin lets himself chuckle as he notes, with no shortage of amusement, just how Donghyuck and Renjun’s composure crumples, how their eyes bug out and their jaws slacken in shock.

It’d all been worth it, then: pretending to be oblivious for so many months, biting the bullet and feigning ignorance, acting like he didn’t notice Donghyuck and Renjun’s increasingly absurd antics. Which, of course he’d caught onto their schtick—even if he hadn’t been able to see ghosts, it would’ve been painfully obvious after a while. Their subtlety had long been scrapped in favor of trying to get any reaction possible out of him.

Oh, right. The elephant in the room (ghost in the room? _elephant_ ghost in the room…? hmm. yeah, sure, let’s go with that): Jaemin can kind of sort of, totally see ghosts?

Yeah. Checkmate.

He’s not quite sure when it started. Whether it was something that he’d been born with, or if he’d developed the power later on, or if he was potentially even cursed after a nasty run-in with one of the grumpy old ladies who’d always held a grudge against him. All he knows that as a kid, all the way up till now, he’s always been able to just _see_ things. Wispy, almost transparent figures loitering around street signs, ducking into restaurants, and even whirling around the halls of his own childhood house.

They’re never malicious—maybe it’s by some stroke of luck, maybe he’s been lucky enough to avoid all the evil ones—just a little lost most of the time. Mischievous sometimes, but really just a little lonely. The worst ones are the ones who don’t seem to realize that they’re dead, the ones who brighten up the most when Jaemin interacts with them, the ones who voice their confusion at how the rest of the world seems to have completely forgotten about their existence.

Some part of Jaemin always clenches in helpless guilt when that happens. There’s nothing he can do about it. And even if there was, it’s not his obligation to help every ghost in the world, he _knows_ that, but it still doesn’t sit well with him.

It’s part of the reason why Jaemin had chosen to go to uni here: the ghostly side of things is quieter in this city; the people are actual people. Here, Jaemin feels like he has room to breathe, away from the swarms that had riddled his hometown. Here, Jaemin can walk around freely without the persistent thrum in his ears of the not-quite-afterlife.

As it turns out, restless spirits don’t really make for the best background noise.

Go figure.

Quite contradictory to these motives, then, is his delight at managing to scout out one of the few haunted places in the city. Maybe it’s a strange kind of homesickness, he muses. As crowded and claustrophobic as his old town was, it was still _home_. The ghosts: they were his, in a way—not an odd sort of possessiveness, but more of an anchor. If everything else were to crumble in Jaemin’s life, he would always have the steady presence of the paranormal to hold onto. A deathly cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

Or, he decides, maybe it’s just a matter of moderation. Too many ghosts make Jaemin feel horribly overwhelmed; no ghosts at all make Jaemin feel a unhinged sort of untethered.

And besides, this pairing—Renjun and Donghyuck, if his hearing is to be trusted—there’s something different about them. Jaemin doesn’t usually see ghosts come in a package deal like this. Clusters, sure. Entire gaggles jam-packed into tiny dimensions, but none of them ever seem to notice anyone else’s presence. It’s rather tragic, honestly, but these two don’t seem like that at all. They’re fully aware of the other—play off of them even, bantering back and forth easily.

It’s a brand new dynamic for Jaemin to sink his teeth into, and he’s nothing if not curious to an absolute fault. So of course he signs the lease easily, nodding placatingly at the warnings he gets about supernatural activity and politely dismissing them with a small headshake, a lopsided smile.

If anything, Renjun and Donghyuck had done such a good job of scaring away any past tenants that the rent’s dropped to be dirt-cheap because no one could last more than a few months there. So, at the very least, it’s a solid win for Jaemin’s bank account. Which is always nice.

—

Speaking of Renjun and Donghyuck: they’re cute, decides Jaemin as they face off underneath the fluorescent lighting in the kitchen. Which, maybe isn’t the most rational conclusion to make about the two beings that have been trying to terrorize his life for the past few months, but, well. Jaemin is used to this—this being the whole paranormal business—at this point. Practically an expert, really.

Na Jaemin: twenty-years old, probably in debt, coriander enthusiast, and professional ghost wrangler.

Huh. There’s a certain ring to that.

And, it’s hard _not_ to think of them as cute when Jaemin’s practically been roommates with them for months. Really strange roommates with serious communication issues, maybe, but roommates nonetheless—Jaemin’s seen them bicker over the dumbest things, seen them fawn over stray cats, and seen them curl up into each other on stormy nights.

But, back to the present:

Jaemin laughs once more as he hikes himself up to properly sit on the counter, waiting for some sort of reaction besides dumbfounded silence. Waiting for Renjun and Donghyuck to unglue their jaws from the floor, waiting for them to remember their words once more.

Renjun is the first one to recover from the shock, scrambling for some semblance of composure before sputtering out, “You—you can see us?”

Jaemin swings his legs back and forth from where he’s perched and gives a pleased grin, happy now that they’ve finally caught on. “I _can_ see you! Quite well, in fact. How lucky am I, having such pretty roommates.”

Donghyuck, still looking shell-shocked, says, “You think we’re pretty?” at the same time Renjun remarks, “And you _didn’t think to mention this before_?”

“Well, I didn’t want to ruin all of the fun you two seemed to be having!” Jaemin shoots back. He’s aiming for annoying, the same tone of voice he’d perfected on Jisung years ago, pinched and nasally, cheeky and bright.

And Renjun, Renjun seethes at that. His hands ball into fists by his side, and Jaemin is suddenly quite glad that ghosts can’t seem to interact with living, sentient beings. Jaemin can almost see the steam rising off the top of his head, which might just be more of the ghostly properties at play, but it makes for a striking effect nonetheless.

It _is_ a bit odd though—before today, Jaemin would’ve thought that Donghyuck would have the worse reaction when he found out, as invested in his pranks as he was. Sure, Renjun tried to scare Jaemin as well, but he’d always seemed the more reserved one, quieter and more contained. Except, Donghyuck only shows signs of mild resignation, maybe a hint of bashfulness at being called pretty—none of the rage Renjun carries—and Jaemin decides that there’s a lot more to both of their personalities than what he’d been able to figure out so far.

It’s hard, after all, to get a proper reading on someone when you also have to pretend that you’re completely unaware of their existence all the time. Jaemin’s decently good at learning what makes people tick, but he’s not _that_ good.

All for the best, then, that his act’s finally been revealed. Maybe he can properly get to know Renjun and Donghyuck now; maybe they can even be friends. That would be nice. Jaemin’s never been proper friends with ghosts before—they’ve always just been a bit too off-their-rocker for that—so really, this is a fresh start for all of them.

—

_A fresh start_ turns out to be Renjun pinning Jaemin down with a glare and demanding that he explain—was he always able to see them? are there other ghosts out there? or are the two of them some strange anomaly?—to which Jaemin complies. He goes through his life story: the whole _yeah I just started seeing these shapes one day and rolled with it_ spiel. He leaves out the bits about the ghosts that don’t know what to do with themselves though; he figures it probably wouldn’t be the most appropriate.

“Huh,” is what Donghyuck responds with when he finishes, followed by, “So there are others like us? Ghosts, I mean. Other ghosts—I was half-convinced that we were the only ones.”

“Other ghosts, yes. Other ghosts like you two, not quite? I’ve never met a pair of ghosts before—you’re the first two I’ve seen acknowledge each other’s existence, let alone remain friends.” Jaemin bites his lip after he speaks, worrying it between his teeth.

This is weird, he decides. Which, _duh_ , it’s not every day you have conversations like this, but still. It’s weird.

“Really now?” Donghyuck says, wide-eyed once more at the realization, followed by—

“Wow. It must be our everlasting love holding us together or something, right?”

Which is clearly a lighthearted remark meant for Renjun, who still seems rather sulky, but it doesn’t seem to have its intended effect. Renjun merely rolls his eyes and huffs, before saying, “Sure, Donghyuck. Whatever you say.”

Donghyuck, curiously enough, loses some of his spark after the rebuff as well. His shoulders slope inwards a bit more and his eyes wallow in some unspoken sadness that Jaemin can’t quite put together. It passes soon enough, and he’s back to being collected, but it does make Jaemin wonder about the nature of their relationship beyond what’s presented surface level.

“Were you two friends when you were… still alive, then?” is what he chooses to start with. It seems unobtrusive enough, not too probing but still an opportunity to learn more.

Donghyuck scrunches his nose a little. “Sorta? We were roommates. I think. It’s—it’s kinda blurry at this point. Being alive, that is.”

Renjun gives a nod, short and curt, but elects to stay silent. Still stony, then.

“Oh,” remarks Jaemin, before trying, “What about as ghosts then? Were you two as awful to everyone else as you tried to be to me?”

And finally, finally Jaemin seems to have hit across a topic that Donghyuck is as eager to talk about as Jaemin is to listen. Mischief lights up across his face as he recounts all of the misadventures they’ve had in the past. Even Renjun loosens up as his stories continue, eventually chiming in every once in a while when he thinks that Donghyuck isn’t doing the events justice.

When Jaemin wakes the next morning, having drifted off at some point late into the night with his head laid rather awkwardly on the kitchen counter, he finds that a blanket’s been draped over him, along with a few painkillers and a glass of water laid out in front of him.

And, oh, how hope—what a lovely, silly thing that is, hope—blossoms ever so pleasantly in his chest.

—

The next few days are a strange venture in readjustment. Recalibration, as Renjun and Donghyuck learn to navigate Jaemin actually being aware of their existence, and as Jaemin reminds himself that he no longer needs to pretend. And, somehow, all three of them are shyer than initially expected, or more introverted—or, just plain uninterested.

There are a lot of awkward moments— _oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—_ and _ah shit, didn’t see you there—_ and even _fucking hell, maybe a little warning next time?—_ that are thrown around. A lot of apologies, a lot of expletives.

But it's fine. It’s to be expected; they aren’t exactly in the most conventional of situations. And anyways, Jaemin, besides being curious to a fault, is also unfailingly stubborn and incredibly determined.

Maybe some things just take time.

And things do get better, easier after another week or so. Donghyuck regularly hovers over Jaemin now, giving pointers when he’s trying to cook or making useless—but endearing—remarks when he’s doing uni work. Jaemin’s found that if you get him in the right mood, he can babble on for hours: anecdotes about life as a ghost, little tidbits about Renjun, even the occasional piece about when he was alive.

It’s cute. Donghyuck—Donghyuck is cute.

He also assures Jaemin that _Renjun doesn’t hate you, no, he’s probably just being dumb. He’ll warm up to you eventually, I’m sure_ —to which Jaemin laughs at, asserts that he wasn’t worried, but is secretly pleased at.

Speaking of the devil: Renjun still remains resolutely stilted in their interactions, but Jaemin can tell that he’s weakening. Jaemin’s biggest victory is convincing him to join in on weekly movie nights, a tradition Donghyuck and Jaemin had accidentally started after Jaemin wondered absentmindedly just how accurate ghost movies were.

And it turns out that Renjun is a bit of a hopeless romantic, so they set up a rotation system. Renjun gets his cheesy love story one week, Jaemin and Donghyuck pick apart the logistics of something scary the next, and finally they all decide on a miscellaneous movie. Rinse and repeat.

Jaemin isn’t quite sure what to name this bubbling warmth that’s starting to build when the credits roll. But he thinks he likes it, thinks that he doesn’t mind it at all.

—

There is one, particularly awkward, encounter in the midst of their growing pains that Jaemin can’t quite shake, one that had occurred just a few days after the big reveal. In which Jaemin had been stumbling blearily to the kitchen for a drink after finally finishing an essay at ass-o’clock in the morning when Donghyuck came barging in.

Through the wall.

Straightinto Jaemin.

Now, here’s a little lesson on ghost laws: as Donghyuck had helpfully mentioned one day, apparently neither he nor Renjun can actually make contact with living, sentient beings.

It means that they can only pitifully stare at the stray cats that wander onto the balcony sometimes, it means that Jaemin’s been screeched at multiple times to get rid of a spider, and it means that. Well. Donghyuck just sorta phases _through_ Jaemin where a normal human would collide.

And Jaemin considers himself quite secure in his sexuality at this point—having gone through the whole oh-shit-i-kinda-like-dudes-oh-fuck crisis in high school through the process of pining after the stupidly handsome, stupidly perfect senior—but there really isn’t anything in the gay handbook describing how to deal with… the person (?) you have less than platonic feelings for crashing through you at breakneck speeds like you’re a mere piece of tin-foil.

Uh.

Yeah. There are a lot of confusing feelings (and confusing physics—why does the clothing that Jaemin wears not count in stopping Donghyuck? what the fuck, ghost laws) at play here. And Jaemin can’t quite decide if the entire experience was absolutely mortifying—after the Incident, the two had spent an endless amount of time stuttering apologies at each other—and he never wants to repeat it again, or strangely enlightening and something he should try to recreate.

But for what it’s worth, Donghyuck seems to be turning corners and exiting walls much more cautiously these days, so Jaemin decides to follow his lead and tuck the Incident away as something to unpack at a later date.

—

Incredibly confusing emotions aside, there is also the matter of Jaemin’s relationship with Renjun.

Which, to Jaemin’s general delight and Renjun’s begrudging acceptance, has grown to be far less rocky than when they first met. Well, okay, most of their pleasant interactions are still facilitated through Donghyuck’s presence, but still. Baby steps! Small victories. Something like that.

And besides, that’s where Jaemin’s endless supply of charm and charisma comes into play. It’s just a matter of catching Renjun when he’s by himself to force friendship (or something more?) via proximity—and Jaemin, once again, is nothing if not persistent.

Thankfully for Jaemin, Renjun has a bit of a habit of drifting listlessly through the halls and rooms. Sometimes he hums quietly, always some sort of lullaby or children’s tune, quaint and lovely, and other times he elects to stay silent as he sways, waltzing to some silent melody that Jaemin isn’t privy to. What doesn’t change is the oddly wistful look that haunts his eyes, something that Jaemin can’t even begin to piece together. Or, not yet at least.

He’s getting there—or, at least trying to.

Like now, where Renjun has wandered onto the balcony and Donghyuck is somewhere enjoying his late afternoon nap. Bingo.

Jaemin slides open the door leading outside, steps out, and then shuts it gingerly. The thing with dealing with Renjun is that he’s a bit like a stray cat—you have to be careful when moving around him, make sure your movements aren’t too sudden, in order to not spook him. And it works as Renjun is decidedly still present, albeit eyeing Jaemin warily, and Jaemin grins. Professional ghost wrangler indeed.

“Fancy seeing you here,” says Jaemin, settling down into one of the chairs left behind by the previous owners. It’s honestly a really uncomfortable chair to sit in, stiff in all the wrong places, but whatever. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.

Renjun continues glaring at Jaemin, as if trying to psyche him out, before deadpanning, “Yeah, it’s almost as if we both live here. In this apartment. In fact, it’s almost as if I am literally bound to stay here. In this apartment. What are the odds.”

“Ah,” begins Jaemin, chewing on his bottom lip. So maybe this would be harder than he thought. “What are you doing out here then? Enjoying the view?”

“ _No_ ,” Renjun says with a huff. “I’m—thinking. You should try it sometime.”

“Oh? Mind if I join you then?”

“I do mind, actually. We’re not exactly close after all.”

“That’s kind of what I’m trying to change here—” Jaemin laughs a little, maybe in self-deprecation, maybe not— “If you’ll let me, that is.”

At this, Renjun seems to drop the tough act and consider the offer. Weigh his options maybe, figure out all of the potential exits. Jaemin sees the outline of his tongue poking at his cheek as he thinks, before he makes up his mind. “Alright then, Na Jaemin. What would you like to think about?”

Jaemin runs through his list of potential conversation topics for a moment and lands on one particular fact about Renjun that Donghyuck had divulged one day:

“So,” Jaemin says with a grin. “What are your thoughts on aliens?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

—

Things are markedly better after that. Renjun, as it turns out, is an excellent conversation mate once you get him started, offering plenty of opinions on matters both extraterrestrial and not. The two of them have their rough edges to work through, sure, but it’s infinitely better than when Renjun was ignoring Jaemin.

Just for brownie points, however, Jaemin decides to pick up a few succulents on his way home from class one day. In one of the ensuing conversations he’d had with Renjun late at night, he’d off-handedly mentioned how he missed keeping the tiny plants around, and Jaemin knows an opportunity when he sees one.

So here he is, stacked with an armful of pots and smudged with dirt in a few places, stumbling into the apartment. Donghyuck is seemingly nowhere to be found, and Renjun is perched on the living room sofa reading.

Perfect.

“Renjun,” Jaemin lilts in a sing-song tone, dragging out the syllables in the way that Renjun proclaims to hate, but has smiled at more than once. “Look at what I bought while I was on my way home today!”

And Jaemin, he’s ready for a lot of different reactions. Immediate excitement—unlikely, but hey optimism never hurt anyone. Gradual gratitude—much more likely. Or, some mixture of the two.

Except he gets none of that, only Renjun setting down his book and sighing. There’s a strange sadness wallowing in his eyes, another one of those things that Jaemin doesn’t know how to interpret.

“Oh, Jaemin,” Renjun says at last, after a few moments of stilted silence. “Fuck you. Why the hell do you have to be so… good?”


	3. Chapter 3

There are things from being alive that Renjun misses, of course there are. Simple things like having a nice cup of tea or petting stray cats or taking a hot shower. Things like long car rides to nowhere, open windows in early autumn. Renjun would kill to have a bowl of shitty instant ramen at all points in time, except _right_ , he’s the dead one.

There are other things too, things that are… heavier. His family, for one—even though Renjun’s sure they’re long gone. Or, just, the general physicality of the world. Renjun misses things having weight, palpability. Renjun misses the effort that went into movement, the exertion of carrying home groceries, the sweat of dancing around like an idiot. Renjun misses feeling alive, instead of the strange gray limbo that he’s stuck in.

He’s grateful for Donghyuck, in that sense. Donghyuck, who always tries his best to joke around, even when everything seems hopelessly bleak. Donghyuck, who’s so much more sensitive than Renjun had originally given him credit for. Donghyuck, who’s the closest thing to an anchor Renjun has at this point. Because sometimes it feels like if Donghyuck weren’t around to keep him tethered, Renjun would simply drift away, lose track of reality, disappear all the way into nothingness.

To say that Renjun is in love with Donghyuck is almost a grand understatement.

Renjun’s entire half-life is a constant, one long wash of stasis. Same apartment, same cycle of tenants, same pitiful existence. And the only thing out that Renjun really cares about sticking around is Donghyuck—everything else is supposed to be real and solid, but Donghyuck is the only one that keeps him grounded. It’s only ever been Donghyuck, for Renjun.

That’s the problem with Jaemin, Renjun thinks. Or, maybe not a problem, but— 

Jaemin is new. Shiny and new and _terrifying_ , the groundbreaking update to a game Renjun had long memorized the walk-through for. Donghyuck has been Renjun’s companion for so long that he’d almost thought they were irreversibly joined together, but Jaemin threatens all of that so, so easily.

Which is why Renjun says what he does after Jaemin surprises him with the succulents. Because Jaemin really is just too good, and it’s almost painful how much both he and Donghyuck have grown to like him.

His reaction feels justified to himself—after all, Jaemin uproots practically everything he’s ever known—but then the spirals of regret start creeping in at the look on Jaemin’s face. Something that starts out naively confused and slowly wilts into hurt vulnerability. And Jaemin is pretty, pretty even while crestfallen, but Renjun can’t quite stomach causing such a look to mar his features. He goes out on a limb, then, and tries to explain himself, why he’d been so callous for weeks, why he’d said what he said.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—it’s just that.” Renjun trails off, trying to collect his thoughts. He rolls around a few words in his mouth, and then decides he doesn’t like any of them. “Thank you for the plants,” he tries instead. His voice sounds tiny even to his own ears, as tiny as he feels perhaps.

He doesn’t want to hurt Jaemin. Maybe he did, once upon a time. Before he’d gotten to know Jaemin and before Jaemin had wormed his way into Renjun’s heart, but now he can’t imagine even accidently making Jaemin upset, nevermind purposefully doing so.

“They’re lovely, I promise—I’m really happy you got them for me, and—no.” Renjun rubs at his face self-consciously. He’s usually better spoken than this, but something about Jaemin makes all of his coherency fly out the window. “No, I’m saying all of this in the wrong order.”

“There’s no rush,” Jaemin cuts in, voice quiet and gentle. He looks less taken aback now, the sharpness of rejection being dulled by Renjun’s fumbled apology. “You can take your time.”

Renjun presses his lips together and then sighs. There really is no good way to go about this, is there?

He lands on blurting out, “I’m in love with Donghyuck,” quick and to the point, ripping off the band-aid. He takes momentary satisfaction at how Jaemin’s eyes round out, before continuing, “And, so are you. Right?”

Jaemin’s eyes truly bug out this time, mouth rounding out into a proper ‘o’ shape. “I—Yeah. Yeah, I am. Maybe… maybe not love, not this soon, but something close. Is it really that obvious?”

“Kind of? I think… it’s easier for me to tell because, well. I’m in the same boat? Like, I certainly can’t blame you.”

“Oh. Oh, but, you do know that he loves you back?”

At this, Renjun blinks once, twice. Runs over the words again to make sure he hasn’t misheard, because that can’t be right. He must have something backwards here. “What? No, it’s you that he loves—likes—whatever. It’s you that he has feelings for.”

“Renjun. Have you considered that… it could be both? Donghyuck, he can—oh it feels so childish to word it this way—but he can like us both, you know. At the same time.”

“How do you even know that? How—how can that be possible?”

“I know, because it’s what I feel. For both of you—” Jaemin breaks off then, mulls over his words for a second, before plowing forward, “And, if it’s not too presumptuous of me to say so, it’s what you feel too.”

And oh. Jaemin’s hit far too close to home there.

Because Renjun, he’s run through the possibilities an endless amount of times, tried to piece together all the possible scenarios that their odd trio could turn out, but he’s never factored this in before.

All of his what-if’s end in heartbreak for at least one of the parties involved, at least someone getting cast out to the side in order to make way for the other two. And that’s at best—there’s also all of Renjun’s fear over just how incompatible Jaemin could be with the two of them. How they’re practically different species, one human and two ghosts, and how the two feel too alien to ever converge properly.

Jaemin makes it sound so simple though. Like they really could all just _be_ together, all three of them, _Renjun-and-Donghyuck-and-Jaemin_. Easy as that. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Oh,” is what finally comes out of his mouth, once he gets over himself. Which he knows is a weak reply, but Jaemin has just completely shattered the foundation of what he’s been losing sleep over for months. And he needs time to recalculate everything.

Jaemin seems far more at peace now though, now that he’s figured Renjun out a bit more. “We should talk about this with Donghyuck too, but. Does that solve things for you?”

“How would it go, then? Would we just… all date each other?”

“Well—” Jaemin chuckles roughly— “Ideally, yes. We would all be dating.”

“And it would just. Work out like that?” Renjun asks. He doesn’t like doing this; he wants to believe Jaemin; he wants to hope for the best. But things just feel too good to be true, and that conversely makes Renjun feel so, so small. He doesn’t want anything to be ruined, and he’s been worried over this for so long that it seems hard to think that it could ever turn out alright.

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

“I just—” Renjun huffs and crosses his arms, curling into himself— “What if it’s not enough? What if _we’re_ not enough? You’re alive, Jaemin, you’re not—not limited in the same ways we are. You have an entire world of people, and we—the two of us—we can’t even leave this fucking apartment.” Renjun exhales, or whatever the ghostly equivalent of an exhale is, after he speaks, a weak, shuddery little thing.

He thinks that if he were still able to, he’d probably be crying. That’s no longer an option, however, which brings Renjun back to the problem at hand. “I don’t want to trap you in a relationship that’s already maxed out its potential, because you deserve so much more than that. So much more than anything Donghyuck and I could give you.”

The entire time he’s been ranting, Jaemin’s been staring at him with a strange sort of gleam in his eyes that Renjun can’t decipher. Now though, sensing that Renjun’s finished speaking, the look shifts into something more soft, tender. “Oh, Renjunnie. How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Since… since Donghyuck started falling in love with you. It was about keeping him safe at first. And then it was about keeping the both of you safe, and then—well. I got tangled up in everything too, and here we are.”

“Here we are indeed,” Jaemin muses with a small, breathy laugh. He does that a lot, Renjun’s noticed. Laughing in the middle of his speech, that is, this bumbling sort of laughter that permeates his words. It’s a bit like he’s trying, constantly trying, to tend to something else—the bloomings of _it will be okay_ , of better days and better moments. The blossoms of hope, silly and splendid, all spurred on by that damn laugh.

It’s a very convincing laugh, too, and Renjun feels himself caving. Slowly.

Jaemin continues, “Thank you for caring about us, Renjun. You’re—you’re so good at that. Caring, I mean, but I think that all three of us can be happier if we just try?”

“What if you meet someone else though? What if you get tired of us, tired of all these constraints, and want something more?”

“Then we figure things out. We work out a nice, healthy polyamorous relationship with one more person, or we talk things through, or something. We can renegotiate when we get there, but we’ll never get there if we don’t give it a shot.”

Renjun squeezes his eyes shut. He’s exhausted, really—Jaemin’s instigated so many revelations today, and now all of them are crashing down upon him. “Fine. Fine, we can try. Just, give me a few days before we talk to Donghyuck, okay?”

And Jaemin, sensing that he’s pushed Renjun as far as he can go today, agrees. “Of course, whatever you need, Renjun. Whatever you need.”

—

It’s weird navigating the halls of the apartment after that. He can’t look Jaemin or Donghyuck in the eye for longer than a few minutes at a time, not with the whole ‘I may or may not be in love with one of you and strongly in like with the other’ thing floating around his head.

Yeah.

What’s even weirder, though, is examining all of his interactions with Donghyuck through the rose-tinted lens of _oh-shit-he-likes-me-back_. 

(Jaemin was right, it does feel a bit childish to keep saying it like that: Renjun feels like he should be plucking the petals off flowers—he likes me, he likes me not—but, whatever. Donghyuck _likes_ him.)

After Jaemin had dropped that bombshell on him, it seems so obvious now, how Donghyuck practically lays his heart out in plain sight for Renjun sometimes. Renjun won’t lie and say that he’s never had his suspicions about his feelings being mutual, but he’d always chalked it up to just him being hopeful. Conjuring up imaginary reciprocity from where there was none because that’s what he secretly wished for. Projecting his own emotions onto Donghyuck.

But, it’s hard to keep doubting himself these days. Renjun picks up on so much more now, and it’s almost absurd how oblivious he was before: how Donghyuck’s gaze softens when Renjun goes on one of his rambling tangents, how he always checks in with Renjun after making a particularly mad joke about him, how he stares at Renjun instead of the television sometimes during movie night.

As a bonus, it’s also a mind-melting sort of delightful to watch how Donghyuck and Jaemin interact without the painful spike of being left behind in the way. It’s been so long since both Renjun and Donghyuck have met anyone new (or, relatively new? Jaemin’s been living with them for almost a year at this point, but they’ve only really known each other for half that time, since, you know, the whole _make-his-life-living-hell_ phase happened) that Donghyuck absolutely flourishes under Jaemin’s attention.

It doesn’t even seem to matter that Donghyuck doesn’t have physical form. He’s glowing—they’re both glowing, but Donghyuck is more alive than ever before, almost as if the person Renjun’s held onto for so long is flesh and bone again.

The two of them just click together so nicely, Jaemin’s general willingness to indulge Donghyuck working marvelously with Donghyuck’s eagerness to talk, Donghyuck’s infectious excitement pairing brilliantly with Jaemin’s. It makes Renjun feel silly for ever being resentful of their relationship—how could he have ever felt so bitter towards something so _good_?

It’s this restored faith in the world that makes Renjun braver, bolder. It’s this that makes Renjun nod at Jaemin one evening as the three of them are gathered at the sofa.

It’s this that makes Renjun finally close his eyes, take the leap-of-faith, and hope for the best.

—

“Donghyuck,” begins Jaemin, and Renjun is impressed at how steady his voice is despite how anxious he must be. After all, Jaemin’s showing all of his other nervous tics, from the slow rattle of his fingers drumming on the coffee table to the non-stop bouncing of his knee as he sits, but he seems to have his voice under control at the very least. “Can we… discuss something with you?”

“Oh,” Donghyuck says, blinking owlishly. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Well, Renjun and I were talking the other day and—you don’t have to say yes, of course, there’s no pressure, but—we were just thinking that—”

“We both like you,” Renjun interjects, feeling a strange sort of deja vu to when he’d had that talk with Jaemin all that time ago. “And… if it’s okay with you, we’d both like to date you. Like—all three of us. Together.”

“ _Oh_ ,” repeats Donghyuck, and for one stretched out moment Renjun worried that everything won’t work out as nicely as he’d hoped. Except, then Donghyuck rushes forward and says, “ _Oh_ , yes, oh my god. Took you long enough—yes, I thought you’d never ask.”

“I—what?” says Jaemin, looking a little taken aback, but mostly pleased.

Donghyuck laughs, a high lilting thing of joy. “I overheard you two that day on the balcony. Not the whole thing, but enough, and I’ve been waiting for one of you to bring it up for days.” He fake-pouts, then, and adds, “Not cool leaving me hanging for all this time, by the way. Not cool at all.”

“Shut up, you try confessing to the guy you’ve been in love with for decades,” Renjun shoots back, but that’s in jest too. Jaemin’s already moved onto fully celebrating, flapping his arms around and prancing through the apartment with a sudden burst of energy.

And Donghyuck’s always kept him grounded, but this new floaty feeling? This giddiness, building from the base of his ribcage and rapidly expanding upwards? This sheer, unbounded experience of joy, pure and lovely?

Renjun didn’t think he’d ever be allowed to have this, not this much and not this strong, but he thinks he could get used to it. He thinks that he could really and truly get used to it.

—

The handle to their apartment door rattles around a few times before the door opens, revealing Jaemin—Renjun’s _boyfriend_ , some extremely unhelpful part of him supplies, still riding off that high even though it's been months—in all his glory. A new addition, however, is the boy trailing a few paces behind him. He’s lugging around a backpack and holding a tray with two coffees, and oh. Right, this must be the classmate that Jaemin has said was coming over to work on a project.

Yangyang, was it? Hmm. Yeah, sounds about right.

Renjun drops his knitting needles as the two move into the living room and moves to join Donghyuck in hovering over their heads. _Behave_ , Jaemin had told them when he first mentioned Yangyang, not _don’t snoop around and stick your noses where they don’t belong_.

And behave they do, as Yangyang and Jaemin proceed to do literally nothing interesting for the next hour. Well, Yangyang seems interesting enough, having a generally lighthearted disposition that Renjun can get behind, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s really boring to watch two college students work on a project. Even if you do have amorous feelings for one of them.

Renjun would go back to knitting, except floating needles and yarn aren’t exactly the most inconspicuous things in the world, and Renjun is too lazy to move. He’s suddenly quite thankful for his mysterious ghostly powers of falling asleep in midair actually—ghost physics get a lot of things wrong, but being able to drift off whenever and wherever isn’t one of them.

His nap ends rather abruptly, though, when Jaemin calls for a break and their reshuffling around wakes up both Renjun and Donghyuck. Renjun stretches after the interruption, with full intention to go back to sleep, when Yangyang leans in towards Jaemin conspiratorially.

And he says, voice turning the most serious that Renjun’s ever heard it, “Jaemin, bro. Not to alarm you or anything, but your place kind of has a ghost infestation problem.”

Uh. What the fuck?

Fully awake now, Renjun exchanges wide-eyed glances with Donghyuck. From down below, Jaemin’s stiffened in his seat, back ram-rod straight and hands wringing themselves out in his lap.

“How—how do you know?”

“Oh, uh,” says Yangyang, now looking taken aback himself. “Sorry, people don’t really believe me that fast when I tell them that. Was expecting a lot more weird looks. Um, yeah, it’s kind of a family business?”

“A… family business?”

“We’re a little like the ghostbusters—you don’t need to worry about the details. But there are spells and shit that let you see ghosts? Ones that let you talk to them, make contact with them, and banish them too. All sorts of stuff really.”

“There are?” asks Jaemin, echoing Renjun’s thoughts. Because, holy shit, there might be some way that Jaemin could actually physically touch them. Holy fuck.

“Yeah, there are. Wow, you’re taking this surprisingly well? Please don’t, uh, report me or anything. I swear I’m not crazy.”

This finally seems to snap Jaemin out of the whatever incredulous trance he’d fallen into as he relaxes and laughs. “No I’m just—I can see them too. The ghosts, I mean, except I’ve never needed… any sort of spells, I don’t think.”

And this time it’s Yangyang who takes a moment to recover from shock, blinking rapidly for a few moments before commenting, “Shit. Oh my god, really?”

“Dude, yeah. Since I was little in fact.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah.”

Yangyang takes another pause to digest this new information—it’s nice to know that Renjun isn’t the only one getting his world rocked right now—before saying, “So… what’s the deal with those two then? Do you guys just peacefully coexist?”

“About that. Oh man, you’re gonna think I’mthe crazy one now, but I’m sort of. Dating them?”

“Oh, uh. _Damn_. How did—how did that happen?”

“It’s kind of a long story? Oh, wait—Renjun, Donghyuck, meet Yangyang, he’s in my psych lecture. Yangyang, meet Renjun and Donghyuck, they’re my boyfriends.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” says Renjun, a little hesitantly because he’s not super fond of getting exorcised. Donghyuck, apparently feeling the same way, repeats the sentiment in a similar tone of voice.

“Nice to meet you guys too,” Yangyang replies, before turning back to Jaemin and saying, “No but really—this is super unprecedented—how did you get to the point of dating them? No one I know has ever been able to tame a ghost like that before, let alone two.”

Jaemin elects to ignore Donghyuck’s cry of protest at the thought of needing to be tamed, and instead says, “Well, they didn’t start out so friendly—” before launching into a complete retelling of how the three of them got together.

Renjun realizes that he’s never really heard Jaemin’s perspective of the first few months, back when they were mortal enemies, and it’s equal parts intriguing and mortifying to hear about how much Jaemin was actually aware of. At least he’s not alone though, Donghyuck seems just as, if not more, embarrassed as Jaemin explains all of their failed plans to scare him at the beginning. 

It really is a shame that ghosts can’t blush.

Once the embarrassing bits pass, however, Renjun finds himself getting into the recount of their story. He and Donghyuck jump in occasionally to provide his own point of view where Jaemin’s stumbles, but mostly they’re content to let Jaemin do most of the talking. It really is quite amazing how far they’ve come, isn’t it?

Yeah. It is.

“Huh,” says Yangyang when Jaemin finishes speaking, sounding at least a fair bit impressed. “Have you ever considered a career as a professional medium?”

“No,” Jaemin replies with a laugh. “I think I’ve already got my hands full with these two.”

He glances up at Renjun and Donghyuck, makes eye contact, and grins, big and toothy. Donghyuck says, “Hey! We’re a delight to be around, you should be grateful for our presence,” in mock protest, but his accompanying smile gives away all pretense of being mad.

Renjun loves them. Both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've gotten to this point, then hey! thank you! i think i went off the rails a little for this prompt, but i hope you didn't mind it! please consider dropping kudos and leaving behind a comment if you enjoyed what you read, it really would mean a lot to me! socials are below, thank you for reading, have a lovely day!
> 
> twt: [@nanodarlings](https://twitter.com/nanodarlings)  
> cc: [aphelions](https://curiouscat.me/aphelions)  
> 
> 
> [inspiration + additional thoughts](https://hereinevitably.dreamwidth.org/12229.html)   
> 


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